All the things I should have done got off the bus on the last day of school and followed me home.
Panicky and shaky over nothing and everything.
Most of my anxiety is focused on a small green caterpillar in a jar on the daughter's dresser. Whether it will die because I misidentified it. Gave it the wrong food. I am starving it. Its imminent demise the first great tragedy of the summer.
I am shaky and tired and cannot sleep. I feel like I am doing backwards somersaults inside my head. And everything I have done, everything I will do is somehow assuredly wrong.
I should have spent time out of doors. I should have danced. I should have phoned a friend.
Instead I sat for hours on end beading Van Gogh's starry night into a piece of deerskin.
And it is too late now to get adequate sleep this night.
Once you realize these things
It is always too late.
Quaker, teacher, parent,